ANNOUNCER:
He checked through passport control, an unbearable line that seemed to grow instead of shrink, but he finally handed his Ident capsule to the gate attendant.

PASSPORT CONTROL
Welcome to the planet Deja Vu. Have you been here before?

BURTON SOUND BYTE
Is that some sort of sick joke?

ANNOUNCER
Burton replied, fighting down the feeling that he actually had.

PASSPORT CONTROL
Not yet!

ANNOUNCER
--the attendant smiled. Burton retrieved his ID back with not a little anxiety.

SOMEHOW FAMILIAR MAN
Excuse me--

ANNOUNCER
--a somehow familiar man came, brushing past Burton's shoulder and hurrying on his way to the exit gates.

BURTON
Quite all right,

ANNOUNCER
--Burton said absently as he tried to find a hover cab. Burton Sound Byte, explorer, adventurer, and headline act at the Comet Lounge in Neo Las Vegas was on profiteering business with a revolutionary, a "Mr. Black" of, fittingly, The Black Brigade, who had insisted on conduction transactions on this, of all planets in the galaxy. All Burton knew about Mr. Black was that he was a little more whacko than most extremists, and this remote planet in the gravitational pull of three separate suns created alternate futures and histories, or spawns doppelgangers from parallel dimensions -- the kind of chaos Black thrived in. No one in their right mind came to Deja Vu, or at least, no one left in their right mind, which made basing covert operations there ideal.

(SFX: Approaching hover Taxi, then powering to a stop)

TAXI DRIVER
Taxi, Mr. Burton?

BURTON
How did you know my name?

TAXI DRIVER:
Part of the job, sir. Shall I take you to the usual place?"

BURTON
This is my first time here. I'm staying at the--

TAXI DRIVER & BURTON:
--Parallax

TAXI DRIVER
That's the place. Get in.

(SFX: Hover cab powering up, whooshing away)

ANNOUNCER
The hover cab glided neatly to Burton's hotel, taking back roads and side streets with the cabby reassuring Burton that they were not being followed, all before Burton could ask him to do just that.

DESK LADY
Oh, you’re such a kidder, Mr. Sound Byte. Your usual room is ready, and a nice hot molecular refresher has been prepared for you, just as you ordered, sir.

BURTON:
Uh, thanks,

ANNOUNCER:
--Burton stumbled, trying to remember making such an order.

BURTON:
If a Mr. Black rings up--"

DESK LADY
I'll put his call right through, sir."

(SFX: Hotel lobby sounds cut)

ANNOUNCER
Burton got to his room, removed his travel clothes and slid slowly down into the Molecular Agitation unit, every atom of his body gently stimulated, a wave of relaxation surging over him, when the Intro Com buzzed.

(SFX: Vibrating sound of Molecular Agitation Unit; Com buzz)

BURTON
Sound Byte here,

ANNOUNCER:
-- He slurred in Ultra Comfort Mode.

MR BLACK: (Heavy Jamaican accent)
Greetings, Mr. Burton-mon! Dis is Mr. Black. I believe we have some business to conduct -jyah?

ANNOUNCER
Burton bypassed the control panel on the molecular refresher, redirected the flux channel to Manual Override, cranked on the power he siphoned from the remainder of the appliances, and screamed in pleasure until he passed out.

ANNOUNCER:
Mr. Black greeted Burton offering a Neo-Jell-O mold chair. The perimeter of the room was decorated with Kamikhaki Jump Troops all standing at impossibly straight attention. A dazed Burton pitched forward a little to align himself to their angle.

MR. BLACK (Japanese accent)
Apparently, Burton-son, you have already withdrawn the funds we have given you.
(switches to Jamaican accent) JYou were expecting to make a quick getaway, ja-mon?"

BURTON:
Uh, No!

ANNOUNCER:
--Burton retorted brilliantly. A quick get away was sounding better to Burton as he was looking for exits, of which there were depressingly few, and the most handy one was inconveniently closed and guarded by a blonde Kamikhaki Special Ops who was probably not specially trained for five years in the Dakkakon swamps for Spectral-Racquetball theory.

BURTON
Look, this planet has got me a little disoriented. Something in the magnetic fields, I think. Let me go back to my room and get the plans. I'll take your limo again, and the racquetball player, here, can accompany me.

ANNOUNCER
Burton gestured to the blonde guard, who broke his snappy disciplined face in puzzlement at being referred to as a racquetball player. Burton was satisfied to see confusion on someone else's face for a change.
Mr. Black brought his fingertips together, furrowed his brow and pursed his lips. Finally, he blinked his eyes, raised an eyebrow and smiled. Burton surmised Mr. Black's face would continue on in this manner two years after the rest of him had died.

MR. BLACK (Italian accent)
Very well, Mister Burton. It is quite common to experience some vertigo from the time fluxes. Forgive me for pressing business so soon upon your arrival. Hopefully, you will stay long enough that you will get your 'time legs' as it were. Until then, ciao."

ANNOUNCER
A while later Burton emerged from The Parallax as promised with the plans, returned to the awaiting hover limo and made his way back to the familiar plush corner Comfo Unit of Mr. Black. The doors opened, and Mr. Black rose from behind his desk in surprise, the array of Kamikhaki troops presenting a forty-two arm salute.

MR. BLACK (Russian accent)
Da! And the accomodations acceptable, I hope? Comfortable? You could have called and told me you were coming. Some people have no love for Deja Vu and conduct their business and leave on the same day, so fortune had my vehicle there in case you were in haste."

BURTON (still slow)
Yes, fortunate.

MR. BLACK (French accent)
And now I'm sure you wish to talk payment. We have taken the liberty of opening an account in your name with the following figure if it is to your liking. when we have reached an acceptable sum, you can return with the plans. I am sure you do not have them upon your person at the moment, oui?"

MR. BLACK (Spanish accent)
Excellente! I will have you transported back and we will make arrangements for the exchange!"

ANNOUNCER:
Mr. Black offered to toast the deal, but Burton declined, muttering something about needing something stronger in the mind-altering department in the privacy of his own Intensive Care Unit.

On his way back to the Parallax, while Burton was piecing together the most recent events, the limo was rammed by a hover taxi, which then also fired two Detonator missiles into the front of the limo, vaporizing the front end.

(SFX: Cars ramming together; firing of rockets; explosion)

ANNOUNCER
An all-too familiar taxi driver came out and handed Burton a handful of Universal Currency Vouchers, all with as many zeros as the lines would allow, a flight ticket and a boarding pass card, and hustled him into the taxi.

TAXI DRIVER
Just like you planned it, Mr. Burton. If you run you can just make it through Boarding Control before they revoke your passage. I took a little extra in my cut for expenses and to pay your accounts, but there's still plenty for both of us. Not bad for a day's work, eh?

(SFX: Transport terminal; hubbub of many people, distant taking off of rockets)

ANNOUNCER
Like playing out the last part of his own dream, Burton, totally flummoxed, was racing through the Turbo terminal and cleared Passport Control when he grazed a man on the shoulder.

BURTON
Excuse me,

ANNOUNCER
--Burton said to the somehow familiar man, who replied absently,

SOMEHOW FAMILIAR MAN
Quite all right,

ANNOUNCER
--in a way that made Burton crash to a halt, the retreating image of the man flitting across his already muddled memory.

ANNOUNCER:
The secret to getting away clean from Déjà Vu is not to get caught up in other people’s business or problems. Even if they are from your alternate futures and histories, or are doppelgangers from parallel planes.